


Stalwart Little Assistant

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Gen, Mild canon divergence, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Nadia plans to spend her family vacation hiding, but the strange boy she meets isn’t one for plans.
Relationships: Julian Devorak & Nadia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Stalwart Little Assistant

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slight divergence of the lore in the “A Foxy Hideaway” tale, where it is established that Nadia’s family visited Nevivon, but she hid in the carriage and didn’t meet Julian. As per that story, Nadia is 16.

It’s unreasonable to make a village so cold. It seeps into the carriage and the shawl Nadia clutches around her. She wants to tuck her knees to her chest, but if someone returns for her, they shan’t see her poise break.

Someone will return for her, of course. And then she shall deign to join them. It is even more boring inside the carriage than it must be outside, and those hot springs Navra and Nasmira cooed over would chase away the chill.

 _Look who finally joined us_ , Natiqa or maybe Baba would say. She grits her teeth and stays put.

When even Chandra does not fetch her, she gets out her notebook and turns to her latest designs. Without her tinkering tools, she can at least work on her calculations. Chandra so enjoys her clockwork mouse that Nadia is attempting larger rodents.

As she tries to balance the design’s weight, the carriage door swings open, letting in a burst of salty wind. Nadia prepares a retort for whoever opened it, only to find empty air—until she looks down at the child scrambling up into the carriage. She can’t estimate the age of younger people, let alone the pale, gangly redhead who plops into the velvet seat across from her.

“Hold. Just what do you think you’re doing?” Nadia asks. They puff up.

“Rescuing you, of course.”

“Rescuing me?” Her study of the Nevivon language doesn’t illuminate anything.

“This pretty owl led me here.” Chandra swoops in to land in their lap, a sting of betrayal worse than the cold. They stroke her neck, their mouth hanging open, before jerking back up. “Oh, right! I’m rescuing you.”

“So you’ve said. Rescuing me from what?”

“Well, uh. Whoever has you locked up here?”

“That would be me. I go where I want, and stay where I want.”

“Where you want?” The clockwork in their head turns visibly. “You locked yourself in here?”

“That is what I’m saying. How did you get past the locks? And the guards, for that matter?”

Their mission being a fluke only deters them for a second. “Oh, that’s nothing for the great Ilya, grandson to the dread pirate Mazelinka.”

Her headache rivals those from her foresight. She intends to ask why Chandra brought this boy for his games of pretend, but the traitor has decided to act like the nocturnal creature she is. Reluctantly, Nadia addresses Ilya. “Do tell.”

He swings his arm in a wide arc, startling Chandra, who flies off. “I stole one of their swords and fought off the other guy, ducking under his—”

“You fought them?”

“Uh, can you keep it down, please? I didn’t actually fight them, they should be back any minute.” He ducks his red face. Nadia rubs her forehead. She has no desire to get him in trouble; nobody is capable of kidnapping her, let alone a youngster.

“In that case, you had best be quiet as well.” She picks up her notebook. Given her audience, she can’t hug herself to ward off the chill through the open door.

“Okay,” he stage whispers. “So, what are you doing in here?”

Does quiet not meant _quiet_? “Design work,” she says, flashing the page at him. He reaches, and she holds it away from him. “These are just preliminary sketches.”

“They’re really good! I can’t draw at all. I can write, though.”

“Can’t everyone?”

“Oh, har, har. I’m the only literate one in my village, other than Grandma Lilinka.”

“Indeed? The only one?” How does anyone in Nevivon spend their spare time? Or their lessons, for that matter? “That is well for you, then.”

His grin becomes a shape she hadn’t thought possible. “Thanks. So, uh, what are your designs for?”

She pulls out Chandra’s clockwork mouse and winds it up. It runs in circles around the carriage floor. “My next piece shall be larger, so the mechanism must—”

“You made this?” His awe makes her smile despite herself.

“It is a little clunky, but Chandra seems to like it.”

“Is that your owl? We should take her toy to her.”

Despite Chandra’s slight against her, she glances outside. The sunlit salt flats blind her too much to spot more than the strip of sea on the horizon.

“I must stay in the carriage,” she says.

“Why?”  
  
“Because I said I would.” It sounds so childish she flushes. “Someone must guard it from the inside.”

“It does look expensive,” he says, running a hand over the gilded frame. “Okay, I’ll help.” He closes the door and squares his shoulders. At once, he begins tapping his foot.

 _My stalwart little assistant_. She almost smiles again.

She picks up the mouse and winds it, letting it run uselessly in her hand. What does one say to someone younger? “Do you have aspirations for your future, beyond guarding my carriage?” Now she sounds like everyone who condescends to her. “That is, are you moving forward in your career?”

That doesn’t make any sense, either, but he only tilts his head and smiles. “I’m gonna be a doctor.”

“A noble profession. My sibling is one. They are always patching people up on battlefields and the like.”

His eyes light up. “I bet they’re so heroic!”

Nadia’s grip tightens around her mouse. It whirs in protest. Why did she boast of Nazali’s achievements when all she has to impress him is a toy? “Perhaps you should talk to them, then.”

“That’d be amazing.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. He sits, beaming at her.  
  
“Aren’t you going?” she asks.

“Oh, uh, did you mean now? I’m still helping you guard.”

She rolls her eyes. “I relieve you of your post.”

He salutes. “Aye, aye, Captain.” But he stays, his lanky leg bouncing, like he has nowhere better to be.

She brings a hand to her chest. He would choose her? Or perhaps he has so much energy, he assumes he can spread his attention among everyone. A doctor indeed.

Not if he gets locked up. “Thank you for the visit, Ilya, but you should go before you are discovered. I shall draw the guards’ attention.”

He droops, but the mention of the guards makes him crack open the door.

“Good luck with your designs,” he says.

“I don’t need luck, but thank you. I expect you’ll be a wonderful doctor someday,” she says, and he grins before slipping out. It isn’t until he is gone that she realizes she never gave him her name.

The cold seeps back in, rattling her. She girds herself against it as she steps carefully outside.


End file.
